


Swimming in a Circle

by makakama



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 17:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30075828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makakama/pseuds/makakama
Summary: There's an inherent duality to Maka's life that she has never been able to even come close to understanding. There exists no neutrality. Suffering and celebration go hand in hand.  Her most terrible and bottomless low, has come with a uneasy high. Her late mother has come back to her, in vivid, restless dreams. Another blow, her childhood best friend's move to New York, is solved with his unexpected return. In her unperturbed excitement, she does not heed the dire warnings her mother starts to give her.
Relationships: Black Star/Death the Kid, Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans, Nakatsukasa Tsubaki/Liz Thompson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Swimming in a Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooo, I'm back with another one. I hope you enjoy! Tell me what you think! I love hearing from you guys : )

The beautiful cotton spun swirls of stars and clouds that rest before her eyes can only be the product of a dream. Skinny little clouds that, during the day, would be an angelic, soft white, are a moody looking, inky grey against the dark of the night. They dance cheekily with the twinkling stars. The moon smiles down on her as she sits on the roof top of a place she has never been. Shaken by the night's beauty and unknowingly wrapped up in the sort of unexplainable confusion that can only come with being unconscious, she forgets that this is usually when Mama comes. 

Lately, Mama has been telling her things that she is not ready to hear. She tells her daughter of trouble to come, and how she's to avoid it. Last Sunday she'd said: 'Don't let Papa get into the car tonight, he'll crash it. You may be mad at him, Maka, but don't let your pride be your downfall. You need your father. Don't let him go.'

And she was right; he did crash. He'd lost control and spun right off of the road and into a mangled oak tree. He turned out fine, a couple of bruises here, a couple of cuts there. Nevertheless, this shook Maka to her core. At first she'd thought her dreams were a simple product of grief, even as vivid and life-like as they were. But within the last couple of weeks she'd come to see them as they really were. Mama's warnings. 

Maka was, and previously thought she'd always be, a skeptic of anything unnatural because she'd never had concrete evidence to believe such things. But when she lays her head down to sleep every night, she's met with the face of the opposition. Her mother; who tells her terrible things she should not be able to know. She has no idea how to heed to these life altering calls. Part of her still wants to believe that all of this, whatever this may be, is coincidence. But her rational mind has been defeated by scenes whispered to her in her sleep playing out right before her very eyes days later; who can deny what they've seen unfold right before them? 

So she sits, unaware that she's yet to hear the voice of fate ringing in her ears, taking in the beauty of this false night with a level of earnestness that a girl of only eighteen that has been faced with such tragedies as she has, should not be able to achieve. 

She's only slightly startled when she hears a thin whisper float behind her. 

"Maka," it's her mother, of course. 

"Hi Mama," Maka smiles and gets onto her feet to face her. Every time they meet, Maka notices the white-ish blue glow that clings to the outskirts of her mother's frame, like a beautiful aura. It suits her motherly nature well; Kamika Albarn was always a headstrong woman when she needed to be, but she'd much prefer to be graceful and welcoming. 

"I have to be quick tonight," Kamika looks abashedly down at her feet, "It's almost time for you to wake up, anyway." 

Maka is a quick learner, so she was able to grasp that time works differently when you're asleep almost as soon as she and her mother had begun their nightly talks. 

"It's okay Mama," she fidgets in spite of herself, "we can catch up another night." 

"That's right," she smiles, "but I have something important to tell you this time around." 

Kamika notices the quick flash of unease wash over her daughter's face, "It's nothing bad-"  
  
"What is it, Mama?" A curious, eager light sits behind Maka's eyes.

"The Death family is returning to Shibusen. Surely you remember them." 

"Damien!" Maka's nearly screaming, wholy unable to contain her excitement, "Mr. Death and Asura too?" She can't say as she's excited to see them as she is Damien, especially Asura, but Mr. Death was always very kind to her. 

"Not Asura," Kamika is cautious, as this is not her story to tell, "There are two new additions, though. But I'm sure Damien will explain all of this to you when you see each other again." 

Maka swears her heart physically swells with joy when her Mama mentions the latter part. It's been four years since Maka's seen her best friend. When he and his entire family left without notice, Maka thought her heart would surely break beyond repair. They'd been inseparable basically since birth. She loved, and still loves, Damien like family. But Maka is stronger than she'd ever be comfortable with believing, and carried on with her life without him in it. She found new friends to navigate the emotional rollercoaster that was highschool with, and she loves her little rag-tag group of losers just fine. They'd never once let her down. Even still, she can't help but to be absolutely delighted to have the chance to catch up with the one who was by her side from the very beginning. 

"When?" Maka asks. She doesn't want to wait. She wants to hear what New York is like; she just wants to know what four years has done to him. Will they still mesh like they used to? Her heart speeds up in her chest. 

"Soon enough," her Mama cuts off her panic with an angelic smile, "see you tomorrow night, sweet girl." 

There's always a bitter sweet note to waking up, but right before Maka regains her hold in the land of the living, a flash of emotion passes her mother's eyes that she can't quite grasp. The closest conclusion she can come to is apprehension. She doesn't have much time to think about it before her alarm persuades her with harsh screeches into opening her eyes. 

Beams of golden light bounce all around her room. She takes a moment to admire the specs of dust that float delicately in and out of the beams, like shy little fairies. She could take a few monents more, but she decides to get up and get rolling early. She doesn't have anything in particular to do, but she remains punctual all the same. 

Her papa is still sleeping of course, so Maka naturally assumes he had a little too much to drink last night. It doesn't go unnoticed to her that he's been doing that alot lately, but she doesn't know how to bring the problem up even if she wanted to. Tearing her mind away from that particular unpleasantness, she decides to go see Soul. She figures he could use a little company. She leaves a note on the fridge that reads: 

_Off to see Soul, I'll be back by dinner._  
_-Maka_

...

She lets the beautiful clear blue hue of the sky and the tiny white whisps of clouds that block out the beating sun here and there fill her with appreciation for life; an appreciation she all but lost when Mama left her months ago. Therapy and medication are helping the young girl well. She takes every excercise seriously and does all the coping skills to a T. She is not the kind of girl to put in half the work. However, she can't help but liken her newfound happiness to seeing the all-too lifelike image and crystal clear ring of her mother's voice every night, even if she is coming to bear terrible foresights; she is happy to see her Mama all the same. 

Lost in her own little world; an occurrence that is beginning to happen a lot more lately, she barely even notices that she has arrived at Soul's building. She walks up the stairs in a hurry and knocks on the door. There's no answer, but she knows it's unlocked, anyway. She lets herself in. The sight before her is one she has gotten used to, but is disheartening nonetheless. 

All of the blinds are closed. The entire apartment is cast in muted grey shadows, golden light flowing through in razor thin lines, illuminating the peices of clothes that are littered about the floor. A leather jacket here, a flannel shirt two or three sizes bigger than Soul really needs there. Dishes have piled up in the sink. She checks the fridge, and not to her suprise; it's almost completely empty. 

Maka takes it upon herself to open the blinds and the windows. It had to have been at least a couple of days since anyone has done so, because the faint smell of cigarette and marijuana smoke are still lingering in the air. 

She sighs, sad to admit to herself that Soul is in another funk. He gets like that sometimes. She's tried, a multitude of times, to get him to go somewhere and get help, but he just won't. He insists that he can take care of it himself, and that it's not really that bad. But it is. People who are at least a little content with life do not live like this, ever. Even if it's an 'inbetween state' of being happy and sad, as Soul likes to call it. Maka knows this well, because she's felt that way too; she knows what it's like to want to disappear into a comfortable bed and forget about the world. And she knows just how quicky that want can turn into action, and how that action can lead to wanting to really disappear. As in, disappearing _forever._

But there's not much she can do other than trying to cheer him up a little and steering him in the right direction. So she starts with doing his dishes and sprucing up the living room. Maka knows she's no maid; that she does not exist solely to pick up after some man, but Soul isn't just 'some man'. He's her friend, arguably her best friend, since Damien went away. And what he needs right now is a little tlc. She intends to do just that. 

She turns on the hall light and walks towards his bedroom. She opens the door, and just like the living room his space is bathed in darkness. It's surprisingly clean, and for that she's glad. Maybe that means he's not as low as she thought, perhaps he's just feeling a little tired this week. But that's what he'd say either way if she asked him. So it's better to walk on the side of caution and let him know that she's here to help, anyway. 

She crosses to the other side of the room and pulls the blinds open with one swift yank. They go flying upward, letting light pour in as they go. 

"Time to get up, Soul. You and me are going grocery shopping. There is absolutely nothing in your fridge, so what have you been eating?" 

"Nnnuuggh," he rolls over, putting a pillow over his face, "what are you doing? It's like _seven am_ , dude," that sleepy voice of his, which one could not get her to admit she finds kind of cute with all the torture in the world, impedes him from actually sounding angry. 

"It's actually ten thirty. But that doesn't matter, you've gotta eat, Soul," she pries the pillow away from him.

"Fine, but I'm gonna complain the whole time," he sounds more lucid as he sits up in bed. 

"Fine by me! You can complain all you want, but I've got the feeling that after you've gotten a proper meal in, you'll feel much better," with this, she leaves him to get dressed. 

He walks out into the living room not even five minutes later, wearing a pair of beige pants and a shirt that says 'piano man' across the front, holding a motorcycle helmet in each hand. He throws one to Maka, who can't contain a creeping smile that pulls at her lips, and grabs his keys and wallet. 

They depart, and Maka is silently joyful that she gets to ride on Soul's motorcycle again. It's been a while, almost too long. When she's on the bike, the sense of freedom that the wind on her bare legs and flowing through the back of her hair gives her feels like it'll last forever. Yet every time she steps off, she wants more. The closeness to Soul feeds her addiction too. She feels a connection to him that seems soul deep when she's holding onto him as he's driving. It feels like they can take on the whole entire world, just the two of them, even if they're just going on a simple ride to the grocery store. She hopes he feels the same way, but every time she feels that twinge of hope, she pushes it down. She doesn't entirely know why, but she has the faintest notion that friends usually don't feel that way about each other. 

They arrive at the store and begin to walk in, making small talk as they go. 

"Anymore night visits since I've seen you last?" Soul asks, taking off his helmet. 

"Every night," she responds as she does the same. 

"Learn anything interesting?" 

"Remember Damien Death, the kid in our grade that moved four years ago? He's coming back" She smiles, still excited to see him. 

"With a name like that, how could I not? Why'd she tell you that?" 

Maka scoffs, "He was my best friend. I'd find out anyway, but I guess Mama wanted to give me some good news for a change." 

"Nothing wrong with that," he smiles, "makes me sad to see you so doom and gloom all the time, anyway." 

They chit chat as they shop, grabbing items intermittently as they go. 

After they check out, they decide to run a few more errands; much to Maka's pleasure. They run by the music shop to get a couple CDs for Soul, the book store to pick up a couple paperbacks for Maka to devour, and by the highschool to pick up their transcripts. 

The two say their goodbyes as they reach the apartment, as sundown comes before Maka expects it to. Time flies when you're having fun, she supposes as she starts the walk back home. 

...

When she comes home, dinner is already done and sitting on the table. There's a note on the fridge that reads: 

_Gonna be gone for the night. Make sure to eat dinner, and breakfast! See ya._  
_-With Love, Papa_

Typical. It seems like they only ever communicate with each other through notes left on the fridge; ever since what happened with Mama, at least. 

She picks at her meatloaf before she crams the leftovers into some tupperware and shoves them into the back of the fridge, feeling like a bit of a hypocrite for getting on Soul's case for not eating enough. 

She reads through half of her new book, Dark Side of the Moon, by a Japanese author she'd started getting into about a month prior. She lets his words take her away for a while, into a different world. A world where she's the brave hero, hopping galaxy through galaxy on the tops of burning stars. Where she has the power to bend reality to her will, and the earth is never tethered to her feet, holding her in place with that familiar icy grip. 

She's been called a bookworm, many times, by many people. But she's happy to be a bookworm. A bookworm has the freedom to live in any world they want, even if it's only for a little while. That escape; there's nothing else like it. It's her main joy in life. And she'll be damned if she'll let anyone judge her out of it. 

After her escape, she settles down for bed. She lets her soft blankets and fluffy pillows lull her into a dream. 

But she does not slip into a dream with an inky night sky filled with bright beautiful stars, like she's been doing lately. She is painfully aware of this right away. Instead, the sky is a dark, _oozing_ red with deep maroon clouds the color of half healed bruises trudging along sluggishly before her. The stars are nowhere to be seen, smothered by the thick red atmosphere. The moon is a sickly, jaundiced yellow that she cannot bear to look at even for one second too long. One raindrop falls onto where her thigh peaks out from under her skirt. But it is not translucent and clean, like she expects; it's black. Pure black, the kind of black that freshly burned ash produces. She wipes at it with one finger and is horrified to find that it's sticky, like coagulated blood. She gets up to turn and run, away from this horrible scene, and hopefully into a more pleasant dream. But she's stopped dead in her tracks by her mother, unlike she has ever seen her before. 

The woman's skin is, overall, is a pale, stomach turning green. Her fingers and lips are black and peeling. Her hair is filled with dirt, leaves, and things that crawl. 

Maka opens her mouth to scream, but finds that she cannot. She's frozen in place, forced to face her mother, looking like she's just crawled out of a shallow grave. 

_"The dead,"_ she rasps, throat too decayed to speak properly, _"they're weeping."_

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was as fun to read as it was to write. Should I keep this one going? I've got some interesting ideas in mind.


End file.
